


The Fiery Woman

by AthenaFangGranger26



Series: The Adventures of 'Lizabeth Page [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Multi, basically everyone in the series, i really stink at tagging, takes place after the great game but before scandal in belgravia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AthenaFangGranger26/pseuds/AthenaFangGranger26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Lizabeth is back, this time she has school to contend with. Well, that is until someone starts killing Baker Street lookalikes and Sherlock is on the case. Can Liz balance school, her new parents, murder, and her new friend...boyfriend?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fiery Woman

" 'Lizabeth, you ready for school?"  
"Yes, I'm ready to go to somewhere I'd rather not." I moped, and plopped down in Sherlock's seat.  
"You have to go, you know that. You're seventeen now." John sighed, heading back for the kitchen.  
I grunted, flopping an arm over my eyes. The sleeve of my new school uniform was way too scratchy for my liking. The whole uniform was sexist. I had to wear a freaking skirt. I 'hate' skirts!  
Not to mention, I'm purebred American. I'll be a Yankee, in a sea of Brits. Not exactly how I wanted to spend the better part of my week. I'd much rather be at crime scene. Yes, literally. I'm not being sarcastic.  
When your adopted parents and best friends are Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, you tend to find murder exciting. 'Very' exciting.  
Much more exciting, in fact, than a stupid boarding school. Besides, what was the point of living with Sherlock and John, if I was going to a freaking boarding school?  
Just then Sherlock strode into the room, fully dressed this time.  
"Uncle Sherlock," I whined, before he could speak. "Do I have to go?"  
Sherlock ignored me and turned to John. " We have a case."  
"Can I come?" I pleaded, practically hanging over the back of Sherlock's chair. "I'll try not to show off, I promise!"  
John and Sherlock continued to ignore me, well sort of ignored me, they both kept glancing at me having one their internal conversations. They have so many that you'd assume they were, y'know, 'together'. But John continues to set anyone who thought otherwise right.  
It was kind of infuriating. And sad.  
"Uncle Sherlock!" I finally huffed.  
"What do you want, Liz?" Sherlock finally faced me.  
"I have five minutes to get to school, I don't want to go, and I'd like to go on the case." I said in one breath, accompanied with a purely angelic smile.  
"Fine." Sherlock threw up his hands and stomped into his room.  
"What's his problem?" I asked John.  
His expression was one I earned a lot. The 'you-seriously-don't-understand-that-it's-you' look. Then John turned and marched off into his room. Leaving me alone, by myself in the living room.  
"So, does that mean I'm not going to school?"  
When my call met no answer, I sighed and fell back against the chair again. I grinned, still no school. It was a good thing I wasn't a criminal; they were powerless against me.

"Uncle Sherlock!" I yelled from the sitting room. "John! When are we going to that case? I want to see some dead people!"  
I slouched back down on the couch, adopting Uncle Sherlock's favorite mind palace pose, hands together beneath my chin, eyes closed. I've known Sherlock for a little over a year now and I still don't understand how this helps him think. It's kind of annoying.  
I heard a sigh as John and Sherlock finally joined me in the sitting room. I heard John mutter: "I blame her boredom on you." To which Sherlock chuckled.  
"Are we finally going to the crime scene?" I called, not bothering to open my eyes.  
"Yes," Sherlock said, reaching for his coat and scarf.  
"You are going to class tomorrow, 'Lizabeth." John said in a very scolding tone.  
"No, I'm not." I quipped. "Classes are dull." I grumbled, going in search of my own leather jacket.  
"Yes, I blame you for her behavior." John sighed.  
All Sherlock's reply was was a lopsided smirk.

There was something really strange about this crime scene. By now, I was completely used to the atmosphere of a case. Used to the presences of Lestrade, Sally Donovan, and the ever annoying airhead, Anderson. Completely used to the blood, gore, and sadness. Sure, it was always sad to see the victim's family and friends, but I got over it when I got the thrill of solving the mystery.  
I walked beside Sherlock and John, dressed in my new signature detective look. Every detective had their own 'look'; Sherlock had his coat and scarf, John had his jumper. I had my thick leather jacket.  
I'd long since lost my rags and ratty curls. Now I looked like a proper seventeen year old, minus the fact that I skip school.  
"Sherlock, John, Liz." Lestrade greeted us.  
There was no chit-chat, there never was. Lestrade jumped right into his explanation as he led us to the body.  
"This one might be a bit disturbing. We're not sure what to make of it." Lestrade was saying.  
"Why would it be disturbing?" I butted in.  
"Well, I'll just let you see for yourself." Lestrade pointed ahead to the body.  
Sherlock and I were the first ones to it. John lagged behind a little. At first I didn't realize why John held back, but after studying the scene a bit it hit me.  
The victim had thick curly black hair and sightless pale blue eyes. The man was dressed in a trenchcoat as if just returning home from a rainy night. If you squinted really hard and tilted your head a bit, you'd swear Sherlock was standing over his own dead body.  
That's why John couldn't come closer. That'd be his best friend dead on the floor.  
"Hey, John?" I called softly. "Why don't you go hold a cab, this won't take long."  
John didn't thank me, but I think he realized I knew about his discomfort. I didn't like to see my best friend like this either, but I couldn't let Sherlock have all the fun now could I? I skipped school for a reason.  
I went to crouch by the body, across from Sherlock. I was about as good at reading Sherlock's minimal expressions as John was, but I couldn't put my finger on the emotion he was hiding behind his eyes this time.  
"John looked like he was in pain." Sherlock commented idly.  
"I hope you realize why." I murmured, trying to ignore the resemblance between the dead man and the detective.  
"I do." Was all Sherlock said.  
"Doesn't it bother you?"  
"Bashed in head, internal bleeding, beaten to death. Killer left a signature again, the letters RE carved into the skin of the neck. No other damage to the body, experienced killer." Sherlock expertly dodged my question.  
"You should say something to John." I pressed.  
"What do you want me say? I can't apologize for the man's appearance." Sherlock sighed.  
"I don't know. Something comforting."  
"Sentimental." Sherlock muttered.  
"He's your best friend; say something." I hissed.  
"I don't have friends."  
"That's a load of crap and you know it, but whatever. I'm going to find John."  
With that I stood and stormed away from Sherlock and his work. He was so annoying some times. Him and his 'I don't have friends. Friends require emotion'. It's a bunch of bullcrap. I 'know' he has emotions.  
I tried to ignore the sinking feeling I got from this murder. That was new.  
I found John exactly where I told him to wait, in the back of a cab. I told the driver to wait, we had one more coming. He rolled his eyes at me to which I replied likewise.  
"Where's Sherlock?" John asked as I slid into the seat beside him.  
"Uncle Sherlock is being stubborn." I grumbled. "It didn't even faze him."  
"Thank you, by the way." John said softly.  
"No problem, I don't think Sherlock realizes the impact that had on both of us. Maybe he really is a machine." I mused, looking out the window at the scene. "I could hardly stand to look at it either."  
"Do you think it's meant for us?"  
"Very well could be." I sighed. "Maybe we should keep an eye on Sherlock better."  
"Yeah, maybe." John looked like he was going to say something else, but just then the cab door was wrenched open by Sherlock.  
I slid over to let him sit by John, I hoped he didn't realize that-if he did, he made no indication. He just rattled off our address then promptly shut his eyes.  
"The final verdict?" I asked.  
"I told Lestrade exactly what I told you." He snapped, not looking at us.  
"Nothing unusual?" I pressed.  
"Yes, the victim looked like me. Doesn't change anything." Sherlock sighed.  
"It changes John and I's view on this!"  
"So?"  
"I hate you, Sherlock Holmes." I grumbled, crossing my arms.  
"No, you don't."  
Just you watch, buddy. I'll find someway to get you back for your stupid lack of emotion. I've seen you emotions, dummy.

When we arrived back at 221B, Sherlock instantly dashed upstairs to his room. Leaving John and I to slump up the stairs ourselves.  
"What is his problem?" I grumbled, stomping up to the flat's door.  
"Maybe that case bothered him more than he wants to let on." John mused, taking a seat in his chair.  
"Yeah," I sighed, glancing at Sherlock's closed door.  
"Let's just leave him. He doesn't like to be disturbed when he's thinking."  
"I've noticed." I glanced around, beginning to feel boredom creep in again. "Wanna watch a show?"  
"Sure," John reached for the television controller.  
"No, I brought something back from America when we were there last." I went in search of my find, revealing it under my jacket.  
I held up the set of DVDs. "Supernatural?" John asked.  
"Yep, it's an American TV show about two demon-hunting brothers and their friend, Castiel, the angel." I grinned.  
John smiled at my enthusiasm. "Alright, put it in."  
I grinned and bounced on my heels, putting the DVD in the player and pressing play.  
"My mom used to watch this. I only remember bits of it. It's good though."  
I slung my leather jacket around my shoulders and settled back to enjoy some demon killing, vampire chopping, cute Winchesters, good times.

John and I were nearly asleep when Sherlock finally rejoined us in the sitting room. I had resettled myself lying down on the sofa, my leather jacket nearly falling off my head. My eyes were closed, but I was still awake-just barely-listening to Dean talk to Sam.  
"We're family," the older Winchester said.  
I felt the sofa shift as Sherlock settled himself there. I smiled and shook my jacket off my head. I leaned over and rested my head on Sherlock's shoulder without really thinking. He stiffened, but didn't move away.  
"'Bout time, Uncle Sherlock." I whispered, aware of John's even breathing across the room.  
"I was busy." Sherlock muttered.  
"So were we. It's called Supernatural by the way. Someone on John's blog recommended it before my dad's funeral. It's American."  
"Interesting." Sherlock mused.  
"Really?"  
"No."  
I sighed, I should have seen it coming. Sherlock never found television interesting. Except when he could correct it. I clicked off the television as the credits began to roll. The room was plunged into darkness. I stayed perched against Sherlock's shoulder.  
"Any thoughts on the case?" I asked.  
"Nothing more."  
"Does it bother you that he looked like you?" I asked.  
"Not really. It was strange, yes, but no, it didn't bother me."  
"I can't understand how it didn't. It scared the heck out of me." I muttered.  
"Inhuman, remember?"  
"Lies." I muttered, a smirk on my face. "Uncle Sherlock?"  
"Hmm?"  
"I don't want to go to school."  
Sherlock let out a low chuckle that made me smile, before I slowly shut my eyes to the gentle shaking of my very human detective pillow.

"But-"  
The door of 221B was slammed in my face. I sighed, slinging my bookbag a little higher on my shoulder. So, this was John's way of forcing me to go to school, locking me out of my own house.  
I chuckled; this had Sherlock Holmes written all over it. Only he could be that clever.  
I flagged down a cab and gave the address to my new school. I may have taken the cab to the school, but I had no intentions of going to class. No way. Regular classes were dull; and nobody believed that a girl who'd been on her own since she was eleven could need advanced classes.  
C'mon, I was reading Agath Christie mysteries at twelve, George Orwell classics by fourteen. I could handle some high school advanced classes.  
I sat back and enjoyed the cab ride, fingering the class schedule in my pocket.

"'Lizabeth Page, please report to the main office."  
I scrunched down further into my hiding place as they called my name on the PA system for the fifth time. It was only a matter of time before they sent someone looking for me.  
I will admit I 'tried' to go to class. I even had Reading first hour. Until I met my classmates. My homophobic classmates.  
"Your parents are both guys?"  
"Ew!"  
"Gross, do they make out and stuff?"  
"They're not together? Why the hell do they live together then? Hmm? Answer that!"  
"That's not right!"  
"Gross!"  
I'd finally had enough of it, waited until first hour was over, then retreated into the school's library. They didn't have a super great selection, but it was okay. Plenty of murder mysteries.  
I had wedged myself into the break between the wall and a bookcase, with an Alex Cross mystery propped open on my knees.  
"'Lizabeth Page, main office please." Sixth time.  
I went back to reading my mystery. Already I had discovered the killer and the motive before Alex had. I found myself wondering how long it would take Sherlock and John to figure out a mystery like this.  
Not long I'd venture.  
"You must be 'Lizabeth."  
I jumped at the voice, glancing above the edge of novel. Standing over me was a tall boy with a large mop of chocolate hair and sizzling green eyes. He wasn't too shabby to look at for a seventeen year old who hasn't had contact with humans her age since she was eleven.  
"Who's asking?" I growled.  
"Sean Turner, senior hallway monitor." The boy said, flashing his student i.d. like it was an FBI badge.  
"Then, no I'm not 'Lizabeth Page. Why are you looking for her? Is she lost?" I faked a concerned gasp.  
"What if I was Sean Turner, concerned student and local coffee house attendant?"  
"Then I'd say, 'Hello, my name is Liz. Nice to make your acquaintance'." I smirked.  
"Ah, smart. Sherlock Holmes' kid, right?"  
"Possibly."  
"Heard you're adopted."  
"Possibly."  
"New here? Skipped class yesterday, spent all morning in here."  
"Quite the deducer yourself, aren't you?"  
Sean laughed. "I try."  
I got to my feet and slid out of my crevice. This caused Sean to back up, right into the librarian. This in turn, knocked the stack of books out of her arms.  
"Oh, oopsie!" She cried. 'Oopsie'? Who the heck says 'oopsie' anymore?  
I knelt instantly to help her retrieve her books. I quickly observed her, noting things the way I'd seen Sherlock do.  
Long fiery hair, white button-up blouse-top three buttons undone, showing a little too much cleavage than morally acceptable on a school faculty member. Medium length pencil skirt, no tights or stockings, high warm pink heels.  
When the librarian raised her head to take a book from my hand, I analyzed her face. Bright gold eyes, most likely from uncomfortable contacts because of the miniscule teardrops forming at the base of her eyes. Small nose, almost as if facial work had been done. Full lips, too full-definitely surgically expanded. Lips painted ruby red, recently. Eye shadow and liner, dark to emphasize golden eyes.  
Seems a bit flirty and sleazy for a school librarian, wouldn't you say?  
Strange....  
"So, sorry Miss Ezra. Didn't see ya there." Sean chuckled, helping the librarian to her feet and replacing her humongous stack of books.  
"Quite alright there, Sean." The librarian, Miss Ezra apparently, laughed.  
She set the books down on a nearby table and took a few moments facing the books before turning back to Sean and I. I noticed that the blouse was definitely more open, only an idiot wouldn't notice it.  
Obviously, Sean wasn't one then because his eyes strayed to Ezra's chest every few seconds.  
I sighed. Men....  
"And what's your name?" Miss Ezra turned to me smiling kindly.  
"Oh, um, 'Lizabeth Page." I smiled back, it was so fake only an idiot would miss that it was.  
And apparently, Ezra was indeed an idiot. "Oh, you're Sherlock Holmes' kid. I'm a big fan, that case you solved with the nine women. Brilliant." Ezra smiled kindly, sounding clearly enthused. "I'd almost wager you're better than Holmes himself."  
"That I doubt." I said, keeping the phony smile plastered on my face.  
"Perhaps that will one day be proven fact or fiction." Ezra smiled, then without another word, she collected her books and marched off, giving her bum a little more 'sway' than was necessary.  
"Well, Sean, weren't you going to return me to the main office as I am supposed to?" I inquired, turning to the boy.  
But he was too busy watching Miss Ezra's retreat. I rolled my eyes and tapped my foot. "Sean?"  
He continued to ignore me, watching the librarian stretch to place a book on the top shelf. "SEAN!"  
"Hmm?" Sean finally turned to me.  
"Office?" I sighed.  
"Oh, right. C'mon." Sean gave one last glance at Miss Ezra's retreating figure and led me out of the library.  
I don't understand men....

"What do you mean she was skipping classes?" John asked, trying his hardest to stay calm.  
I was leaned, relaxed against the back of the chair beside John. I wasn't afraid of the portly headmaster or John, and I wasn't about to act scared in front of Sean Turner, who was leaned against the doorframe along with the imposing figure of Sherlock Holmes.  
"I mean, she has been absent from every class today except first hour Reading. And my hall monitor finds her hidden away in the library when she should be in Mathematics." The headmaster sighed, I didn't bother to learn his name; Green-something.  
"'Lizabeth, is this true?" John asked me.  
I sighed. "I told you, John, I may be seventeen, but I have the intellect of a college student. Eleventh year classes bore me. I've learned it all."  
John sighed, the same exasperated sigh he made when Sherlock contradicted him like I just had. Part of me always felt bad for John, now he sort of lived with the real Sherlock Holmes and a miniature female version of the detective.  
"'Lizabeth, I've already informed your parents that you can't be advanced to higher classes." The headmaster tried.  
"Why not?" I muttered.  
"Because you haven't been in school since you were eleven." The headmaster said like it was obvious.  
Sean snorted at the door, like he found this hilarious. Until a gloved hand backhanded his stomach, and cut off his imminent chortle. Sherlock made no other movement, only a smirk in my direction, which I gladly returned.  
"What can we do about this?" John asked.  
"Well, if she refuses to attend her classes, I will be forced to expel her."  
John sent me a death glare then, which I kindly decided to pretend I didn't see.  
"It won't get that drastic, sir. I promise." John stood and shook the headmaster's hand. "C'mon, 'Lizabeth. You're in big trouble."  
I rolled my eyes and headed for the hallway where Sherlock was already waiting. But as I was crossing the threshold of the office, Sean's hand darted out to take mine. He quickly scribbled a series of numbers onto my forearm. I grinned as he mimed a telephone call. 'Call me?' I could easily read the subtext.  
John gave me a shove and started to push me toward the door, already beginning his lecture.  
"Sean, back to class." I heard the headmaster yell.  
I grinned as John pushed me into the waiting cab after Sherlock. I'd take John's yelling anyday as long as I could call Sean later. So, I sat and listened to John lecture me about importance of education, as Sherlock sat on the side, staring out the window in thought.  
I knew Sherlock's side on this argument. Neither of us really cared about school subjects, only present day reality.  
With a slight smirk, Sherlock handed me my black jacket. "There's been another murder."  
"Ooh, murder. Now, 'that' sounds fun." I grinned.  
John just shook his head, lost and beat by a seventeen year old American girl and his consulting detective best friend.

"What's the deal with this one?" I asked no one in particular as we walked to the scene.  
Lestrade sighed. "Same as last time, except...different."  
Sherlock and I took the lead at that. John wanted to be sure he wouldn't see another dead Sherlock lookalike. I'm not sure I wanted to either.  
But when we reached the body, I found myself wishing for another Sherlock twin.  
In front of me was a girl, probably my age or a little older. Her inky locks were spread beneath like a stretching stain, her skin pale with bloodloss. Her eyes were a bright sky blue and staring up at the now grey sky. Her lips were still poised in her final shriek of life, as it had been strangled out of her.  
Really the only marks on the girl were the stress marks on her throat, and the marks that matched with sharp nails where the fingers of the killer had choked the life out of the victim, and the same RE carved into the girl's collarbone.  
"Oh," John whispered as he stood behind me.  
I squatted beside the body, shutting my eyes for a moment to regain the composure I was so close to losing.  
Now, I was the one staring at 'my' dead body.  
Sherlock glanced across the girl at me. I nodded, finding no more strength to place a reassuring smile on my face. My previous excitement at the thought of a case had vanished.  
"It's a woman." I whispered. "The killer is a woman. These are marks from her nails. RE, we need women with the initials of RE. No middle name this time."  
"What about the victim?" John asked. "Why do they keep looking like that?"  
"I think this case is meant for us. She knows we're on the trail." I thought back suddenly to the librarian's words today: 'I'm a big fan,'. "It's a fan of our work, putting us to the test."  
I'm not sure if that scared me. Yes, I'd been on many cases with Sherlock and John, but until now none of them hit home like this one did. Someone was out to kill us, and for now they were settling for doppelgangers. What happened when they quit settling for less than their plan? When they finally came for one of us?  
I closed my eyes again, taking a deep breath through my nose. The only outward sign that I was stressed. No one spoke to me, no one touched me. I was alone for a moment, hearing only static of distressed calm in my ear.  
Suddenly I shot to my feet and strode at least twenty feet from the body, my school shoes clacking loudly on the pavement. I let a growl loose in my throat, pinning my arms behind my head. I bent at the waist, stretching my body as well as my mind.  
My mind was in overdrive, both sides fighting over the domination of fear or unresponsive calm. They were at a stalemate.  
I let a loud angry sound fly past my lips, listened to it echo back at me from the buildings around me.  
I knew Donovan and Anderson were probably having a field day watching me break down.  
I shut my eyes and tried desperately to shake my thoughts. I'd give my right arm to have a blank mind. But apparently the higher powers didn't like that idea.  
Then without warning, I took off running. Going nowhere in particular, just sprinting through the streets of London. Letting the need for frontal thinking take over. Let my brain figure when I could and couldn't cross a road. Not allowing my subconscious a single thought about the body and family I had just left. Not a single thought. Not now.

John watched 'Lizabeth run away. Part of him was worried, but the other part thought he knew her motives.  
She was in an overload. Kind of like he was right now. They both had to try to cope, while their emotionless companion did his work. 'Lizabeth solved her problem by running-what she did best.  
"Is that 'Lizabeth?" Sherlock asked.  
He had finished analyzing the body and given Lestrade 'Lizabeth's verdict, along with his own. He stood behind John's shoulder, both watching the black clad girl run away.  
"Yeah," John muttered.  
"I suppose we'll meet her back at the flat." Sherlock said, already heading for the streetside to hail a cab.  
"Wait, you're not worried?" John asked, running up to Sherlock.  
"That's 'Lizabeth. She can handle herself, as far as I know she has a weapon on her."  
"What?"  
"Never mind." Sherlock successfully hailed a cab and climbed in the back, glancing back at John.  
John sighed before joining his partner. This still didn't seem right.

I kept running, just running. I didn't slow no matter how many people turned to stare at me. I didn't know where I was going, my feet just kept moving.  
It wasn't until I heard the five tolls of the clock that I realized it was five o' clock. That was the only thing that caused my pounding shoes to halt. How long had I been sprinting?  
How far was I from Baker Street?  
How long would it take to get home?  
Then I got a wild idea. I checked my arm, ensuring the number was still etched in pen on my skin. Yep. I flipped open my phone and typed in the number. I leaned against a store front and put the phone to my ear.  
It rang three times before "Yes?"  
"Hi, is this Sean?" I asked softly.  
"Yeah, who's this?"  
"Uh, it's 'Lizabeth from school."  
"Oh! Holmes' kid. What's up, gurl?"  
"Are you, um, doing anything now?"  
"Just getting off work. Why?"  
"Could you give me a lift to my house? I'm a little lost." I smiled to myself.  
"No prob! Where ya at?"  
I glanced at the storefront and relayed the name to Sean. "No prob, I'm only a few blocks away, be right there, Liz."  
"Thanks, Sean. I owe you." I grinned.  
"Yes, you do. See you in a bit."  
The line clicked off and I opened a message on my phone. John had texted me and I didn't realize it.  
'Where are you? 5 is awfully late.'  
I smirked at John's ability to obsess over my safety. But then I thought about it; maybe it wasn't an obsession. It just seemed that way after the lack of love from my real dad.  
That thought made me smile even more. I really did love John and Sherlock even if I got into huge fights with them. Isn't that what families do anyway? Fight?  
"Hey-o, Liz!"  
I started at Sean's yell. I glanced up to see the boy in question sitting in a pretty silver convertible. His arm was hanging out the side, and he was grinning at me. He wore sunglasses perched on his temple.  
"Oh, hey. Sorry thinking." I smiled, slinging into the passenger side.  
"No prob, gurl. Baker street, right?" Sean asked.  
"Yes, thanks again." I smiled, leaning back against the seat.  
"Again, no problem Liz Holmes." Sean grinned, pulling out into London traffic again.  
"Page." I corrected him quickly.  
"Really? Didn't want the pressure of the Holmes title?"  
I sighed. "No, just holding onto my roots."  
Sean was quiet for a moment, then: "Is that an American accent?"  
I stiffened involuntarily. "Yes. My hometown is in America."  
"Cool! Is it as awesome over there as they brag about?"  
I was startled by Sean's reaction. I found myself smiling and liking this company of Sean. He was nice and I'd only known him for a few hours.  
"Oh, hey, can you, um, ask your dad not to hit me next time. I wasn't trying to be mean, it's just I gotta act, y'know, 'proper' in front of Mr. Greenwich. I really don't care if you haven't been in school for six years, I actually think you're maybekindaadorable." Sean beamed a sheepish, awkward grin my way.  
"No prob, Uncle Sherlock's a bit unorthodox. It's okay, and thanks I totally try to be adorable." I smiled back.  
"Really?"  
"No! Not really. I don't usually care if I look presentable in the morning. I'm a detective."  
"Oh, cool. I like that."  
I was about to reply when Sean pulled up in front of 221B. I smiled at Sean and leaned over to get out, but he reached out and caught my hand. With my full attention he raised my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.  
"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Page."  
I giggled; I couldn't help it. "And you, Mr. Turner."  
Sean left me on my doorstep and honestly I felt a tiny flutter in my chest. He was kind of adorable and I liked him. And yet I never thought I'd be one to fall for the love at first sight. But I'd say I was pretty damn close.

"Was that the boy from your school?" John asked the instant my toe crossed the threshold.  
"Mm-hm." I answered without really thinking.  
"Oh, really?" John mused.  
"Mm-hm."  
I flopped down on the sofa, sprawling my limbs out. I didn't even bother to ditch my jacket. I noticed Sherlock standing by the window; I assumed he was the one who ratted me out.  
My phone beeped and I grinned, seeing Sean's name.  
'You're really sweet, btw'  
I sighed a little-but I was not in love with him. Nope, nope. I replied back: 'You're quite handsome yourself. -LP'  
I could just imagine Sean laughing at my propriety. I wondered if he was home yet.  
'Ever the Holmes kid'  
'Yep, taught by the best. -LP' I giggled as I replied.  
"'Lizabeth!" John made a grab for my cell, but I was faster, springing up from the sofa and holding the phone out of his reach.  
Until it was plucked out of my fingers by the tall dark figure of Sherlock behind me.  
I sighed as Sherlock tossed the phone to John, just as it beeped again with Sean's reply. No matter what I did, these two would always be one step ahead of me, their stupid telepathy putting me at bad odds.  
"You're texting him too?" John asked, reading the text.  
"Yes. We're friends." I stated, holding my hand out for the phone.  
"'You're absolutely adorable, wanna hang out again sometime?' That doesn't sound like 'friends'." John read the text aloud. "Didn't you just meet him today?"  
"You went off to a murder the first day you met Sherlock." I pointed out.  
"That's different." John muttered.  
"Mm-hm." I rolled my eyes, still holding my hand out. "I didn't kiss him or anything."  
"Your hand. He kissed your hand." Sherlock added.  
"Not helping." I sighed.  
Sherlock just smirked in return.  
I could see this was a losing battle. "Can I just have my phone back? I'd like to get to know Sean. He's nice and I don't have any friends my age. Plus I'm seventeen and I've never had a boyfriend."  
John just sighed.  
"Hell, my last crush was Tom Cruise in 'Top Gun'." I continued, not even trying anymore.  
"Alright, fine!" John thrust the phone into my hand.  
I grinned, feeling triumphant. "I win." I turned and sauntered off toward my room. "I like Matt Smith now, by the way."

Later that night, I was back to pacing the sitting room, thinking about the case. Sherlock was again mind palace-ing. John was dozing off in his chair.  
I was trying to solve this stupid case so I could spend some time with Sean.  
But nothing was piecing together. Absolutely nothing. I was really only succeeding in making myself more terrified of whoever wanted us dead. I was just waiting for a dead John lookalike to show up tomorrow morning, and I didn't know if I could handle that. Not now.  
I stared at the photos of the victims and the list of names alongside it. I sighed and paced some more.  
"'Lizabeth, would you please sit down?" Sherlock spoke up suddenly.  
"Why?" I paused my pacing.  
"Your pacing is distracting."  
"Sorry." I muttered, flopping down in a chair loudly.  
John started awake beside me and I sighed again. I can't do anything right!  
"What's going on?" John asked sleepily.  
"Nothing." I muttered. "Absolutely nothing, John. Go back to sleep."  
I myself laid my head against the chair backrest and shut my eyes. I sighed and tried to fight the tiredness I was beginning to feel. It was almost ten o' clock and I apparently had school tomorrow.  
Eventually I felt myself drift off to dreamland, still seeing the bloodied bodies of our lookalikes behind my eyelids.

"Aaah!" I awoke sometime later, letting out a surprised yelp.  
I had fallen asleep in the chair while trying to solve the current case. I glanced around the still lit room, noticing that John was back asleep in his chair, tea long forgotten on the coffee table.  
I smiled sleepily and stood, stretching my arms above my head. I padded softly to the kitchen, opening the fridge. I maneuvered past the human fingers and ear to the half empty carton of milk. I poured myself a small glass and leaned against the counter to drink it.  
Sometimes this helps me think; don't judge.  
I blinked and watched my boys-parents; that nickname doesn't really work anymore-from the kitchen. It made me smile again. They both looked so peaceful, it made me wonder if this was what nights at 221B were like before I arrived.  
After finishing my glass, I strolled back into the sitting room. I expected to see Sherlock awake and lost in his mind palace-as he often chose to not sleep during cases. But instead, I noticed his even deep breathing and fluttering eyelids. He was actually asleep.  
A miracle.  
I smiled and draped the blanket from my chair over Sherlock. He didn't even stir. I don't think I'll ever get over how adorable he and John are when we aren't arguing.  
I then retreated to my chair and curled up. If Sherlock could take a rest break, then so could I. I allowed myself to drift back to sleep, a smile on my face.

"I'm heading to class!" I called through the quiet flat the next morning.  
"Can you actually go to class today?" John asked, scaring me by coming out of the kitchen behind me.  
"Nope. Not putting up with that lot." I grumbled.  
"What lot?"  
"The homophobic lot of my class." I muttered.  
"What?" John spluttered.  
"You heard me. What do people assume about you and Uncle Sherlock? That's all I get in class. I get goddamned homophobic hate."  
"Don't curse. Look, Liz, I'm sorry, but you need the education. You'll just have to ignore them."  
I sighed. "Fine. I suppose I'm taking a cab again?" John nodded sadly. "Alright, tell Uncle Sherlock I said bye. See ya tonight, John."  
I quietly shut the door behind me before thumping down the stairs and out the front door.

Sherlock joined John in the kitchen from where he'd be listening to 'Lizabeth from his room. John gave him a look that told him he knew Sherlock had been listening.  
"Can you believe that?" John asked.  
"I can understand why she hides in the library." Sherlock commented quietly.  
"So you think we can do anything about it?"  
Sherlock shook his head. "The headmaster already agrees with his student body. I don't think we could convince them otherwise."  
John sighed. Why did he have to keep reminding everyone he wasn't gay?

"So, Romeo and Juliet killed themselves for each other?"  
I stared at Sean in disbelief. "You've seriously never read Romeo and Juliet? Ever?"  
"No, it wasn't important. It's just a dumb love story." Sean scoffed, crossing his arms.  
He stared back at me from across the library table. He had a free period this hour and decided to visit me in the library-where I'd been all day. We were discussing our favorite classics-or lack thereof in Sean's case.  
"A dumb love story? Now you sound like Uncle Sherlock-"  
"Hold on, Uncle Sherlock? I thought Holmes was your dad?"  
I sighed. "He is, but he claimed me as his niece one time to a policeman and it stuck. It's just a nickname."  
"So, he's not your real dad?"  
"No, I'm adopted. Page? Remember? Lizzy Page, not Holmes."  
"So, are Watson and Holmes like a 'thing'?" Sean asked.  
I sighed again. "No, they're not. They're flatmates and my parents. Understood?" I locked a harsh gaze on Sean.  
"Yep, got it." Sean nodded.  
"Now, back to the Shakespeare crisis. You are in dire need of witnessing Romeo and Juliet. I'll go find a copy."  
I pushed my chair back and went in search of the play in question. I didn't take me long to find it, a somewhat modernized copy with translations and insights from great men and women.  
But when I turned around, a new figure had taken my place at the table. A certain red-headed figure that made my blood want to boil. I don't know what it was, but I didn't care for that librarian lady. Something about her overly-flirty manner was just wrong, besides the fact that she's a school librarian!  
Sean seemed very engrossed in her at the moment. She was probably flashing more of her chest at him. I huffed and stomped over to the table. I slammed the heavy copy of Romeo and Juliet onto the table, right beside her bright crimson painted nails.  
"Found it. Oh, hello Miss Ezra. That's my seat." I dropped my voice into my spot on impression of Sherlock Holmes encountering an idiot.  
"Oh, sorry, hon. Here," the woman stood up, winking one golden eye at me. I felt my lip quiver in disgust. "Ooh, Romeo and Juliet, how romantic." She dragged out the word 'romantic', batting her eyelashes at Sean.  
I nearly gagged. Gross.  
"Yep, Sean and I are going to read it now. So, uh, buh-bye!" I sat down and waved my hand at her, dismissing her.  
She gave a little 'hmph' and marched off. I watched her go, narrowing my eyes at her. I could practically feel the steam spewing out of my ears.  
"I can't stand her." I spat, yanking the book open roughly.  
"Miss E? Why? She's nice." Sean asked confused.  
"You do realize she's a legal adult and she had her chest practically falling out of her shirt. She's trying to entice you!"  
"So?" Sean asked.  
"She's a teacher." I pointed out, skipping past the table of contents in the play.  
"So?"  
"So, you're hopeless!" I hissed.  
"And?"  
"And, it's wrong!"  
"You're wrong, Lizzy. Miss E's been working here since my ninth year, she's nice and awesome. So, chill. Let's just read this play."  
I sighed and watched Sean for a few moments, before flipping to the prologue of the play, shaking my head.

Later that day I marched out of the school building, shoulders hunched at the call of freak behind my back. My head hurt and I really wanted just to go home and watch some Doctor Who before going to bed.  
That was until I saw the dark, imposing figure of Sherlock Holmes waiting at the curb.  
"Uncle Sherlock?" I called.  
"Uncle Sherlock?" A blond girl next to me mocked in a high-pitched voice, scrunching her nose up in a rather unattractive way.  
I glared at her and hurried to Sherlock. He eyed the blonde from above my head as I walked up. Let's just say his stare was none too pleasant.  
"Hey, since when do you pick me up from school?" I asked.  
"Since there's been a third murder and you should see it." Sherlock said shortly, reaching out to hail a cab.  
"Oh, okay. Where's John?"  
"Already on his way there." A cab pulled up and Sherlock ducked inside.  
"Boring today?" I followed Sherlock inside.  
"Couldn't find anything more on the case until Lestrade called ten minutes ago."  
"Ah, my day was boring too. Infuriating as well."  
"Why?" I could tell Sherlock was only continuing the conversation because I was.  
"Spent all day in the library. Stupid librarian bugged me and Sean stared at her chest all day." I grumbled, looking out the window at London whizzing by.  
"What?"  
"The librarian walks around with her chest half hanging out. Like she wants all the boys to stare at her. She's a teacher for God's sake."  
"Interesting." Sherlock mused.  
"Are you listening?"  
"Sort of."  
I sighed and leaned my head against the back of the seat. There was silence for a bit. Both of us stared out the windows.  
"This one will look like John." Sherlock suddenly said.  
"Hmm?" I turned to him.  
"This one will look like John." He repeated, for once without his usual complaint at repeating himself.  
"I know." I had already guessed as much.  
Was Sherlock afraid? Would a John lookalike finally be enough to shatter Sherlock's sociopathic state? Would he finally accept he actually cared about his flatmate?  
"We'll deal with this, Uncle Sherlock. Just like all the last ones. Like Moriarty. He didn't blow John up before, this nuthead won't get us either." I assured him.  
"Don't be so sure."  
"This isn't Moriarty. You know Moriarty and this doesn't look like Moriarty. So, it's just some new nutter."  
Sherlock just sighed and continued to glare out the window.  
"Oh, shut up Sherlock. We got this." I grinned at him in the way only his seventeen year old daughter could.  
For a moment, Sherlock returned it with a tiny smile of his own. But it vanished just as quickly at it had appeared. And so did mine.  
I hated seeing him like this.

We arrived at the scene to it exactly as we expected. John was waiting for us by the police tape entrance. I smiled sadly at him and gave him a one-armed hug.  
"Hi," was all I said, following Sherlock into the scene.  
"How was school?" John asked.  
"Boring, insufferable. Dull." I sighed.  
"Did the kids-?"  
"Mm-hm. Called me freak and mocked me anytime I stepped out of the library."  
"So, you didn't go to class?"  
"Nope. Read in the library all day."  
John sighed, but dropped it anyway. I felt my stomach do an unnatural flip as I got close to the body. Lestrade was telling Sherlock specifics, but I wasn't listening. I was too busy biting my lip and berating my brain for suddenly replacing the image of the man's body with an image of John's.  
It was just as Sherlock and I had expected. A man with sandy hair and aged features, dark bluish eyes and a thick parka despite the unnaturally warm temperature.  
This time I recognized the stiffness of Sherlock's shoulders as he knelt beside the body. I bit my tongue at my comment about Moriarty. John had told me about the Pool-an event that occurred only a few weeks before my arrival into their lives; how Moriarty had stuck John in a parka to hide the bomb strapped to him.  
I shuddered at the thought, but pushed it aside quickly-desperately trying to focus on the body without imagining John.  
"So, how this time?" Lestrade asked, standing over us.  
"Gunshot." Sherlock and I said simultaneously.  
Sherlock raised his eyes to meet mine, nodding for me to continue.  
I took a breath and spoke: "Gunshot, to the head. Done at close range. The bullet was at its full speed when it entered the skull, didn't have any air resistance to slow it down, it's buried deep in the skull.  
"Was definitely a murder, because the gun responsible is over there." I pointed without looking at the gun I had noticed subconsciously on arrival. "It's too far away from the body to be suicide. The killer ditched her weapon after committing the crime. It's a woman still, because RE is still here on the collarbone.  
"So, it's either revenge or boredom of someone who wants our attention. Kill three consecutive victims, two men and one teen girl. Each suspiciously appearing like one of us. One man beaten to death, the girl strangled, this man shot at point blank."  
"Interesting." Sherlock mused.  
"Interesting, indeed." I replied, glancing up at Sherlock. He had that guarded look in his eyes, again.  
Lestrade walked away to check out the gun, and I heard John follow him-probably wanting to get away from the lookalike body. I glanced up, taking note where Donovan and Anderson were. Then I reached out and wrapped my fingers around Sherlock's wrist.  
"Hurts doesn't it?" I whispered.  
"I don't hurt." Sherlock muttered.  
"Liar." I tightened my grip. "It's okay. I'm terrified too. This won't be easy."  
"I'm not scared."  
"You can't lie to me. You've shown your emotions to me since the night I told you about my dad. I can read you, Sherlock Holmes." I whispered urgently.  
"Maybe that was a mistake!" Sherlock hissed.  
He ripped his wrist out of my grasp and walked away. I stared after him in disbelief, then laid my head in my hands. I took deep breaths to control my anger, disbelief, and...hurt.  
"Sherlock Holmes isn't human." Sally Donovan commented, standing over me.  
I stood quickly and glared at her. I really disliked her, she didn't like me either-I was too much like Sherlock for her liking.  
"He may be inhuman, but he's ten times the hero you could be. So, sod off, Donovan." I snapped, then stomped off too, calling to John that I wanted to home.  
Sherlock had already hailed a cab and left, when John caught up to me.  
"Sherlock?"  
"Left in a huff. I pissed him off." I answered, resting my hands on my still skirt-clad hips.  
"What did you do?" John sighed.  
"Asked if this death hurt. He told me it didn't and I called him a liar." I was truthful.  
"Sherlock never cares about the victims." John defended his friend-there they go again, protecting each other even when they're mad at each other.  
"But, think John, these people look like us. It's affecting you and me, it has to have had some effect on him. He's not a machine, I would-" I cut myself off; I can't believe I was about to tell John.  
Sherlock and I had made a silent pact that very first morning to never speak of our conversations to John. Partly because I liked to keep my past quiet, partly because I think Sherlock is afraid of his softer side. John just assumed Sherlock and I were closer because we were so alike in brainwave. That was only half of it.  
I had seen Sherlock's real heart. And I knew how much John and I took up space there, along with Mrs. Hudson and even good ole DI Lestrade.  
I knew Sherlock cared, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

I was up and on the sofa the next morning before John or Sherlock reentered the room. I was not entirely trying to imitate my thoughtful adopted father, but apparently I was as I leaned forward. My elbows were propped up on my knees, hands folded beneath my chin. My eyes were open, but I couldn't focus on anything but the space between my brain and my gaze. It was black and quiet and let me think.  
There had to be something I was missing from this case. Who was left to die? Sherlock, me, and John; who else mattered enough to our trio to be another lookalike victim?  
John's old girlfriend, Sarah? Mycroft Holmes? Lestrade himself? Molly Hooper? Mrs. Hudson?  
The list seemed long, but none were right. While Sherlock had family ties to Mycroft, John and I barely knew the government man. And while Sarah meant something to John, Sherlock disliked her and I hadn't met her. They were missing ties that were needed to continue the pattern: a tie to all three of us.  
"'Lizabeth?"  
"I'm not going to class today." I said distantly, not entirely sure who I had spoken to.  
"Why not?" I registered the voice was John.  
"Case." I said. "And I don't like class." Honestly, the only reason I wanted to remotely go near that building was to see Sean.  
But I didn't like Sean. Nope, no more than friends. Not at all.  
Well, maybe...  
Stop! Sean has nothing to do with the case.  
"'Lizabeth-" John tried, but I ignored him.  
"UNCLE SHERLOCK! LET'S GO EXAMINE SOME BODIES!" I yelled, standing up and swinging my leather jacket onto my shoulders.

"ARGH! There's nothing here!" I yelled, stomping away from the bodies.  
Sherlock continued to examine the victim that looked like me. I laced my fingers in my curls and dragged them through my hair, wincing at the pain.  
"Why? Why is there nothing?" I asked, starting to pace. "So, they look like us, so they have RE on their necks, so what?"  
"They have to be linked somehow." Sherlock muttered, moving on to examine the bullet hole in John's lookalike.  
"But how?" I growled, moving across from Sherlock.  
I pulled my head up as I heard the click of heeled shoes on the tile. Molly Hooper was making her way toward us. I rolled my eyes and went back to work. Everyone knew she had an unhealthy obsession with Sherlock. Such an obsession that when she first witnessed Sherlock and I side by side, she assumed someone had beat her and that I was Sherlock's biological daughter with some woman. She refused to speak to me that day, until John mentioned me as daughter and she dared to ask my relation to the men.  
I don't exactly care for her, but she is tolerable.  
"Molly." I greeted her as she joined us.  
"Liz." She said, then turned to Sherlock. "What are you looking for?"  
"Anything," Sherlock and I said together.  
I smirked at our likeness in mind. That was why solving crimes with Sherlock was so easy. We understood each other in a way I'd never had with anyone else.  
"You two can't find anything?" Molly asked.  
"Nothing worth using." I growled.  
"Just the painfully obvious." Sherlock sighed. "There's nothing more here. This trip was a waste."  
I groaned, mad at myself for not being able to do anything. "This doesn't make sense. There has to be a reason."  
Sherlock sent me a look that only I could read as 'I feel the same way'. I pursed my lips and sighed, giving up and starting to follow Sherlock out of the morgue. "Thanks, Molly." I called over my shoulder.  
The cab ride was silent. Both of us were clearly thinking, not exactly wanting any interruptions. I drummed my fingers on the door and closed my eyes in thought.  
'Brrzz'  
My phone shook me out of my thoughts. I fished it out of my jacket pocket, suddenly smiling.  
From: Sean Turner  
To: Lizabeth Page  
Heyo, wanna go to a film tonight? Saw u werent in class or library today. Whats up?  
I quickly typed back a reply. 'Just crime solving. I'd love to see a film. What time?'  
'How bout 6 tonight? We could see that new 1 bout the future killing games?'  
'Hunger Games? 6 sounds good'. It was almost 5 now and we still had a ten minute drive to Baker street.  
'Ya, that one. Alright, see ya at 6. I'll pick ya up. Later, beautiful.'  
I blushed and tucked my phone away. I went back to drumming my fingers.  
"You're blushing. I take it that was the Sean boy?" Sherlock commented.  
"Huh? Oh, mmm. Yeah, I've, uh, got a date tonight. Think you could tell John for me, so I can get ready downstairs?"  
"I suppose. John won't like that, nor do I." Sherlock mused.  
"Too bad. I like Sean. He's cute." I grinned.  
I could practically hear Sherlock roll his eyes. "Whatever."

"Hey, Sean." I called, shutting 221B behind me.  
Sean was waiting in his car. I watched him look me over. Which in turn made me blush. I hadn't dressed entirely nicely, but I had chosen a purple t-shirt with minimal graffiti-like designs and a dark brown cardigan over it and a nice pair of jeans. It wasn't much, but I guess Sean liked it.  
"Hey, lovely Lizzy." Sean grinned. "Coming?"  
"You bet."  
I leapt into the car and found myself working hard to keep calm and not panic. This was my first date. And I actually liked the boy. He was adorable.  
The movie was sort of boring. Not enough death for me. Sean loved it, raving about the comradery between the main character and a small girl named Rue. I'll admit the alliance between those two was adorable and touching. Reminded me a bit of me and the boys of Baker street.  
The ride from the cinema was filled with critique and chatter about the movie. I laughed at the way Sean got when someone insulted a character he liked. For someone who knew nothing of Romeo and Juliet, he knew quite a bit about characterization.  
Yes, I am in love with Sean Turner.  
He should be my first boyfriend. That means I might have to kiss him. Can I do that?  
I guess I'll never know, because when we pulled up to Baker street, Sean grabbed my wrist and dragged me close to him.  
"You are a gem, Lizabeth Page." He grinned, smelling so good.  
"You're adorable, Sean Turner." I murmured, glancing from his gorgeous jade eyes to his lips.  
"Would you please go out with me? I'm intrigued by you."  
"I will if you freaking kiss me already."  
"No prob."  
And suddenly he did. His lips were on mine and I sighed a little. He was gorgeous, funny, and a spiffy kisser. He was perfect.  
When I pulled away, I was smiling. "John and Sherlock probably saw that. Better go before they kill you."  
"Alright, gal. Text me."  
With that, he left me on the doorstep. I turned and pushed the door open.  
That's odd, it's usually locked. Why is it open? I took the stairs two at a time, finding the upstairs door slightly ajar. That wasn't as strange. Maybe things were fine.  
When I opened the door, I knew things were most definitely not fine. Far from it.  
The room was more of mess than usual, signs of a scuffle evident. Sherlock's coat and scarf were where they normally were. But I was more worried about the smashed coffe table and the figure lying in the aftermath of the smash glass table.  
"John?" I squeaked.  
I knelt at his side, ignoring the pain from the glass that bit into my knees. He didn't move, oh god please don't be dead.  
I held his wrist, yep, definitely a pulse albeit a weak one. Thank God. Now where was Sherlock?  
"Sherlock?" I called. "SHERLOCK!"  
No reply. But John began to stir.  
"Ungh," he started to sit up.  
"Oh, John." I pushed him back down. "John..."  
His eyes darted around, blurry and tired. Then slowly they focused on me. "'Liz, how...was...your date?"  
I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Good. What happened?"  
"You've got...to find...Sherlock. He's in...trouble." John struggled to speak.  
"John, okay, stop. You're hurt. I'm calling an ambulance. Okay?" I whispered. "Why is Sherlock in trouble?"  
"Kidnapped." John gasped.  
Damn. Why wasn't I here? I could've helped. I could've done something.  
"John?" He had closed his eyes again. "John? JOHN? DAMMIT!"  
I dialed the emergency number and began my lacking explanation. Praying my adopted dad wasn't already dead. Praying Sherlock was okay. Praying I was smart enough to save him.

After John was set up in the hospital-he had broken ribs and internal bleeding, not including the shards of glass in his back-I sat vigil in his hospital room, waiting for him to wake up.  
"John, I'm sorry." I whispered. " I should have been there to help. To save Sherlock. You save his skin far too many times. Look where it got you this time."  
But John didn't reply and I was left talking to myself. Around noon the next day, Lestrade stopped by to see how John was doing. He even talked to me a bit. It was nice. Until he had to go back to Scotland Yard.  
Then I was alone again. Guilt tripping myself for not being there. Bashing my head against my hands, thinking 'stupid, stupid, selfish girl!'  
And then my phone rang.  
I didn't recognize the number, it was a London number. And it was a video call. I never get video calls from anyone. So, out of fatal curiousity I clicked the answer button.  
I still don't know if I regret that decision.  
I was faced with an image of Sherlock Holmes. But the alterations to the Sherlock I knew where massive.  
His lip was split and bleeding. His right eye was nearly swollen shut. His shirt was stained red and he was tied to a chair. His head drooped slightly, like the strength to hold it up was eluding him. A thin line of blood was trailing from his hair to his chin, down his cheek.  
He looked horrible.  
"Hello, sweetie." A sickly sweet voice said off camera. It was definitely female.  
"Who are you?" I growled.  
Sherlock's head snapped up when I spoke. For a moment those clear blue eyes were wide and trying to convey a message. But then they shut tight and Sherlock's whole body shook.  
"Now, now. No talking, or the detective gets it. That, my dear, is a state-of-the-art electric chair. I do think Mr. Holmes enjoys his seat-and his life, so I expect you to shut up."  
I bit my tongue as I watched Sherlock sag back down when the electricity quit coursing through his body. I blinked tears back, Sherlock shouldn't be like this. He was the hero. John and I were sidekicks.  
"What do you want?" I whispered.  
"Oh, dear. Why don't you tell her, Sherly?" The woman cackled.  
"No!" Sherlock growled, his baritone voice gravelly.  
I bit my lip and winced, wanting to reach out to Sherlock, who yelled as another pulse of electricity worked through him.  
"I can do this all day, Holmes. You're only hurting yourself and poor, young 'Lizabeth." The voice cackled. "Now, give her the information she asked for."  
Sherlock glanced up at me, and for the first time I saw something I'd never seen before in his eyes. Submission. Guilt. Regret. Apology.  
"You have three days to find me, before she takes another one close to you. And then she will kill us, and leave you with no one." Sherlock said through gritted teeth.  
I tried to read the message in his eyes. He was trying to tell me something. But what?  
"There you have it, little Lizzy. Find poor old Holmes here. Or I'll take another. And another, until you're alone. And then I'll kill them all in front of your eyes. Starting with dear Uncle Sherlock." The woman shrieked. "Good luck."  
"'Lizabeth!" Sherlock suddenly roared. "Don't! 'M not worth it-" the next course of power shut him up.  
"Oopsie, someone didn't listen. Oh, well. Tootaloo, Lizzy!"  
The phone screen went dark. And again, I was alone. My blood boiled. My pulse skyrocketed. My heart burned. I wanted to scream. And so, I did.  
A nurse rushed in to see the problem. I glared at her and angrily shoved my phone in my pocket.  
"Get me Mycroft Holmes." I snarled.

"Where is he?" Mycroft asked, steepling his fingers over the handle of his precious umbrella.  
"Would I be here if knew?" I sighed.  
Mycroft just stared at me. I wanted to roll my eyes. This meeting had been a waste so far. Seemed Mycroft was just a little smug at the fact his brother had gotten himself into trouble he couldn't escape.  
"Are you going to help me?" I asked.  
"What makes you think I could help you?" Mycroft prodded.  
"Because you are the British government. He's your brother, and I'm your legally adopted niece. And for God's sake, you're a Holmes. You have to have some brain cells, you're not just an airheaded portly bureaucrat. Think!" I hissed.  
"Portly?"  
"Oh, hell. Shut up!" I shouted. "Quit playing dumb, Mycroft Holmes."  
Mycroft smiled. "Ah, so the newest Holmes is as smart as her predecessor. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, 'Lizabeth Page."  
I sighed. "You're a git. I understand why Sherlock doesn't like you. Will you help me?"  
"I'll have to see the video."  
"I didn't mention a video." I smirked.  
"And I didn't need you to."  
"Ah, eyes everywhere. I see." I passed the phone to Mycroft, queuing up the video.  
I stayed in my chair though. It was one thing to hear Sherlock speaking, quite another to see him in such pain and distress.  
"Oh, dear. Seems my little brother's gotten himself into a corner, doesn't it. What would you like me to do about?" Mycroft frowned, handing back my phone.  
"Scan the city. Find a place that looks like that abandoned warehouse. And move John Watson to priority at St. Bart's. Please."  
"And what will you do, Miss Page?"  
"I'm going to solve this infuriating mystery if it's the last thing I do."  
"See to it that you do."  
"As to you."  
"Good day, Miss Page."  
"Goodbye, Uncle."

I was pacing across John's hospital room, my brain whirring a mile a minute. And yet, nothing was coming. It was already midday on the second day. I was just wasting time.  
John had woken up a few hours after I spoke with Mycroft. He was recovering well, not as tired as he was yesterday. But the ribs and bleeding were still keeping him bedridden.  
Looks like I was on my own this time.  
"What did Sherlock say again before the video stopped?" John asked, pausing my pacing.  
"He yelled my name, and said 'Don't. I'm not worth it'." I muttered.  
John winced and sighed, "He's still trying to be the hero. The non-sentimental Sherlock Holmes."  
"I know, but that's a joke. I'm going after him as soon as Mycroft finds that hideout."  
"You're working with Mycroft?"  
"Mm-hm, he's Sherlock's brother. Why not? He's my uncle."  
John grunted in agreement, then sighed in pain.  
"Alright, chill out. Leave this to me, you rest up so you can clean the flat when I get Sherlock back."  
John smiled, and laid his head back at my request. I smiled at him and resumed my pacing.  
"Think, Lizzy. Think."

Days continued and soon it was the afternoon of the fifth day. Which meant the second incentive had already been taken, but who it was I had no idea. Mrs. Hudson was fine, Lestrade was still working, John was still recovering, and I was still here. So who was it? Who else was tied to me?  
I'd taken to sleeping at 221B at night, and visiting John for a few hours a day. I would run my latest thoughts by him, then tell him to rest. I would return home where I practiced shooting Sherlock's gun at the yellow smiley on the wall.  
I was getting pretty good.  
It was 221B where the second call found me. It was a video call again, from the same number.  
I set the gun on the desk and answered the phone. I was greeted with a view of the broken, beaten Sherlock again. But this time it was different.  
A pair of hands were folded over Sherlock's mouth. The nails painted a pristine red, definitely feminine.  
"Hello, sweetie." The female voice cackled, coming presumably from the person holding Sherlock. "Too bad, you couldn't stop our second theft. But you one day to go before lovely John Watson disappears from his hospital bed."  
I watched Sherlock's eyes grow wide at the mention of John in a hospital bed. I grimaced and tried to push the image of his uncensored fear out of my mind.  
"Tick tock, little Lizzy. Now, Sherly and I are gonna have some fun."  
Just before the camera clicked off, I caught sight of the killer's mistake. She was stupid. So stupid.  
The feed no more cut off as my phone buzzed again.  
From: Restricted  
To: Lizabeth Page  
We've located the warehouse. MH  
Below this was an address, I took one look at it and slung my jacket on. I tucked the gun into the jacket alongside the kitchen knife I'd nicked weeks ago.  
I stomped down the stairs, pulling out my phone and placing one final call.  
"Detective Inspector, I'm gonna need some back up. It's our killer and she's got Sherlock."

I padded quietly into the abandoned warehouse. The place was falling apart, looking like it might collapse at any second. I had the gun drawn and held out in front of me.  
Lestrade was outside with a team, waiting for my command to interfere.  
It didn't take me long to find the location of the videos. I could hear the cackles of the woman from a mile away. I gulped at the sight of Sherlock in the flesh. His eyes lit up when he saw me.  
Then I noticed the person beside Sherlock. His dark brown hair was ruffled and dirty. His dark green eyes were down and dejected, sad and confused. His lips were split-those lips I'd kissed the day this fiasco all began. Sean...  
"'Lizabeth," Sherlock whispered.  
"Ah, hello sweetie!" The female cackled.  
"So, does Headmaster know you double as an assassin?" I asked, trying to locate the woman in the dark.  
"Of course not. That'd be no fun!" She cackled.  
"Show your face, Rylee Ezra!" I shouted, cocking the gun.  
"Ah ah, don't shoot. Wouldn't want Uncle Sherlock here to take his last breath."  
"Show yourself, Ezra!"  
The woman cackled and the lights in the warehouse flickered on. There standing before me was the tall, curvy figure of Miss Rylee Ezra, librarian by day assasin by night.  
Her dark red lips curled into a smirk. "Hello, 'Lizabeth Holmes."  
"Ezra. Why?" I had to know. I kept the gun trained on the woman.  
"Fun!" Rylee cried. "That's why. Fun, it's fun to leave clues for the terrific trio of London crime fighters."  
"Fun? You're insane." I sighed.  
"Aren't the best of us?" Rylee cackled.  
I fumed, glancing at her hostages. How could I get them out of here?  
"Don't try to win. That's not how this game is played." Ezra smirked. "This will be the end of the story of Sherlock Holmes, his blogger, and his daughter."  
"Not if I have anything to say about it." I growled.  
I started toward Rylee, keeping the gun on her. My head was telling me to do whatever I had to do to save my family and Sean, but my heart was telling me I needed to live for them.  
"The government knows what you're doing." I hissed.  
"Ah, did we get Mr. Holmes' dear brother involved? Pity, he'll be difficult to get rid of."  
"Shut up!" I fired a shot off behind Rylee's head. "Just shut up, and stop this!"  
Rylee gaped at me, due to the shot now flying behind her. Her gold eyes narrowed. "You dare..."  
"I dare! Leave my family alone!" I could feel the steadiness of my hand, the same as John was under stress.  
"No!" Rylee screamed.  
Suddenly, Sherlock and Sean let out cries of pain. She'd activated the electric chairs.  
"I am Lizzy Holmes and you will leave my family alone!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.  
"Freeze!"  
Right on time, Lestrade. Suddenly, Rylee Ezra had twenty-some guns trained on her head. The fear in her eyes was satisfying.  
"Turn them off!" I yelled.  
"Seb, cut the power." Rylee said calmly.  
Sherlock and Sean slumped back down, exhausted. And Rylee raised her hands high. I glared at her, gun still on her as I rushed to Sherlock's side.  
"Uncle Sherlock!"  
My hands instantly found his face and I felt his skin there beneath my fingers. I was crying, sobbing desperately.  
Lestrade was leading Rylee Ezra out in handcuffs. I turned to him for a short moment. "Get the news to Mycroft and John."  
An officer came by and cut the metal cuffs on Sherlock and Sean's wrists. And then I was hugging Sherlock, clutching him close. Thinking just how close I'd almost come to losing more of my family.  
"Where'd you learn to shoot?" Sherlock asked weakly with a smile.  
"The smiley on your wall taught me." I smirked.  
"How's John?"  
"Managing. He's recovering, he'll want to see you."  
Sherlock smiled and nudged me away. "Go kiss your dumb boyfriend."  
I grinned and stepped away from Sherlock so the paramedics could step in. I walked over to Sean, who was now holding a slab of gauze to his lip.  
"You didn't mention life or death situations when I asked you out." Sean chuckled.  
"I wasn't exactly expecting them to involve you."  
Sean chuckled, and I smiled too. But something was nagging at me.  
"I understand if you don't want to go out anymore." I murmured.  
Sean looked nearly incredulous. "Are you kidding? A girlfriend who can handle a gun and solve mysteries. And has the parents of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. I couldn't ask for more."  
Sean laughed out loud and then he was kissing me and all was right...

"There's a head in the fridge again!" I yelled from the kitchen.  
My comment was met with Sean's boisterous laughter, Sherlock's chuckle, and John's wheezy laugh. I joined in as well.  
As was well, Sean was accepted by my parents and visited 221B often. Sherlock and John were back and solving crimes, both on the mend.  
And of all news, I'm off to University at the end of the summer! I guess catching a murderer living right under your school's nose warrants an upgrade in education. So, Sean and I are off to university together. I had promised John I'd be relatively scholarly.  
Relatively.  
So, all was right. I'd fixed the problem and things were going to be okay.  
About bloody time.

A week later I typed the title onto the blog post, satisfied with a simple title.  
'The Fiery Woman'.

The end.


End file.
